


Thunderbolt and Filing (Very, Very Frightening)

by MyNameIsThunder



Series: Council of Serpents [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 70's Music, 80's Music, 90's Music, Excessive Use of Chocolate Frogs, Getting Together, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, POV Draco Malfoy, POV Third Person Limited, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-16 00:13:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28697511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyNameIsThunder/pseuds/MyNameIsThunder
Summary: It’s their last year at Hogwarts and somebody has signed Draco up for volunteer work in the library with Harry fucking Potter.Draco expects Potter to be pissed off.Draco expects Potter to refuse working with him.Draco doesn’t expect Potter to give him chocolate.Draco definitely doesn’t expect anything of what comes after.What he does expect is Blaise being a fucking nightmare about it.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy & Blaise Zabini, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: Council of Serpents [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1685098
Comments: 31
Kudos: 83





	1. Intro

**Author's Note:**

> First of all: You can totally read this if you haven't read the sequel "All tied up" (duh, this is the first part). If you want to, you can also go ahead and already read the second part of the series (also duh, seeing as I posted that one months ago).
> 
> Second of all: Let me just ramble for a second before we got on with it.
> 
> Me, a month ago: I’ve neglected this story for nearly half a year, but I’ll definitely have time for it during the holidays and could maybe even finish it in time for Christmas ... Alright, fine, New Year’s then. 
> 
> Also me: Starts and finishes reading a trilogy and a quartet (is that what it's called with four books?), subsequently gets into two new fandoms, cultivates a 500 piece pinterest board for each of those and creates all the characters and their homes in the Sims instead, slaps maybe 2,000 words onto this fic as an afterthought. 🙄  
> Long story short: I did _not_ finish this. 
> 
> So, here’s the first chapter instead, because I need some kind of motivation to finally get a move on and continue actually writing it. Don’t worry your pretty little heads, I’ve got an outline for this and know where we’re going to end up. I just can’t take sitting on another fic for two years with nobody knowing about it.
> 
> Here you go, I hope you enjoy! Also: (best YouTuber voice:) Don’t forget to like and subscribe if you haven’t already! 😉 
> 
> Also, if you’ve got some spare time on your hands, you could completely ruin your lives and read The Raven Cycle by Maggie Stiefvater or the All For The Game series by Nora Sakavic (you can get the first ebook “The Foxhole Court” _literally_ for free). [But also: Massive trigger warning for that one!]

“I’m thinking of reviving the Council.”

Draco shouldered his bag a little higher and kept walking across the lawn towards the castle, not once looking at Blaise. “And why the fuck would you do that?”

Blaise fell into step easily. He sounded obnoxiously excited as he said, “We used to have weekly Council meetings a few years back. It’s tradition.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “We had weekly meetings because Flint liked banging that stupid gavel on things and throwing it at people if they didn’t listen.”

“I don’t see your point,” said Blaise matter-of-factly.

They were climbing the steps into the castle now, joining a stream of fourth-year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, who’d just come from Care of Magical Creatures and started walking a little faster when they spotted the approaching Slytherins.

“Flint failed his NEWTs _twice_. Then he went on to fight for _him_ and immediately got himself killed. Maybe he isn’t the best role model?”

Judging by the silence that followed all the way to their table, Blaise seemed to have a faint notion of Draco’s point now. By the time they were sitting down across Pansy, he had gathered himself, though.

“Just because Flint was an advocate doesn’t mean the Council of Serpents _itself_ is a bad idea. Slytherins have been doing it since the founding of Hogwarts.”

Draco sighed and started nibbling on a piece of toast. “I don’t have time for weekly meetings. We’ll be busy prepping for NEWTs. And don’t even get me started on my fucking library duty.”

Not even Draco himself was surprised when his own traitorous eyes wandered over to the Gryffindor table automatically, finding Potter at once.

“But that’s exactly why we _should_ hold a Council meeting!” said Blaise urgently, looking over at Pansy for support. “We have to find out who signed you up!”

Next to Draco, Pansy leaned forward. She followed Draco’s eyes across the Great Hall, right to where Potter laughed about something Girl Weasley had said and then nearly choked on whatever he’d been eating.

“Think _he_ did it?”

Shaking his head, Draco looked away and focused back on his toast. He didn’t really have much of an appetite, but it was no use moaning.

“You saw his face when McGonagall talked to us after Transfiguration.” Draco remembered the shock on his face distinctly. “He definitely didn’t sign himself up for volunteer work in the bloody library. And he sure as hell would never sign up _both_ of us.”

“Maybe it’s a ploy to get you alone and curse you.” Theo leaned in from Pansy’s other side, gesturing at Draco with his knife.

Draco huffed. “Did you _see_ him yesterday? He all but ran out of the classroom as soon as McGonagall was finished explaining what we’re going to be doing. Even before that, he’s been avoiding me the whole week.”

Which meant that Potter hadn’t acknowledged his presence once ever since the year had started.

Ignoring Draco’s very offended look, Pansy loaded his plate with mashed potatoes and some broccoli. “Eat, Draco. You’re going to need it. I have a feeling you’ll be cursing each other sooner or later, _regardless_ of whether Potter signed you up or not.”

“Entirely possible,” said Draco glumly, resigning himself to his fate as Pansy pressed a fork into his hand.

He chanced another glance at the Gryffindor table and immediately locked eyes with Potter. Before Draco could even start to register, Potter looked away.

Perfect. Seemed that Draco was in for a fun evening.

~o~

“All right, let’s get this over with.”

Draco took a very deep breath to steel himself – _‘Remember your resolutions, Draco!’_ – and looked up at Potter. He could do this. He could be polite. He could – that _bastard_ wasn’t even meeting his eyes!

“Potter.” Draco slammed his book shut and got up from his chair at the best table in the library. “At least you’re on time.”

 _Oh boy_. Quite possibly he could’ve phrased that better. Looked like the curses would start flying earlier than expected. Potter’s hand was already in his pocket and Draco flinched just a little bit as he drew his –

Chocolate Frog?

The box landed on top of Draco’s book, and he frowned first down at it and then up at Potter, who merely shrugged, both hands now buried in his pockets.

“You seem grumpy. Chocolate always makes me feel better.”

“I – _excuse_ me?” He wasn’t gaping, right?

“Endorphins.”

“Is that a spell?”

Draco stuffed his things into his bag, if only to busy himself. He left the Chocolate Frog on the table. Was it just him or was Potter acting strange? Stranger than usual?

Potter grinned crookedly. Great, seemed like they would mock each other now! Well, Draco supposed that was still better than curses.

“I wish.”

Or not.

Potter snatched the abandoned box from the table and nearly walked into Draco, who’d made a single step towards the back of the library and stopped in confusion when Potter hadn’t insulted him.

“What?” he asked for lack of a more eloquent question. All of those escaped him at the moment. Potter was _definitely_ acting weird.

“Endorphins are chemicals in your brain. They make you happy. Chocolate makes your brain release endorphins. Ergo: chocolate makes you happy.”

Now Draco was staring at Potter. Thank Merlin that Madam Pince had scheduled their volunteering for a time when the library was closed, so they could work undisturbed, or he would have feared for his reputation. Draco Malfoy, for once speechless in the face of Harry fucking Potter.

“Ergo?”

Potter just shrugged again and rounded Draco to vanish into the back of the library, leaving Draco to stare confused holes into his bird’s nest of dark, curly hair.

What in Morgana’s name was going on?

Potter was already inspecting the massive towers of books behind the backmost shelves. There were rows and rows of them, arranged in a vast circle that left a free patch in the middle, circa twenty feet in diameter, with a small table at its centre.

“So,” Potter said, giving Draco a despairing look. “One thousand five hundred books, huh? And the two of us, I suppose.”

“Indeed,” sighed Draco, stashing his bag under the table. “Seems that we’ll be here a while.”

“Better get started then,” said Potter, floating a stack of books from the tower closest to him and setting it down next to the table. “The sooner we get to it, the sooner we’ll be finished.”

The next two hours were spent in silence as each of them grabbed book after book, turned them over twice and then browsed through them page for page, searching for damage.

They erected two new towers – one for undamaged and repaired books and one for those that they couldn’t set to rights with a Reparo. The latter they registered in a file, with title and apparent damage, so that Pince would know how to fix them.

Draco noticed that their two hours were up when Potter placed a Chocolate Frog card (Celestina Warbeck) in the middle of the book he’d been inspecting, slammed it shut and then immediately jumped to his feet.

“Night.”

And then he was gone, leaving Draco to turn off the lights and lock the library.

Yes, Potter definitely didn’t want to be here with him.

~o~

“Hermione would love this,” was the first thing Potter said one hour into their second volunteer meeting.

Draco, who was sitting diagonally across from him, looked up from the badly scorched Arithmancy book he was inspecting. Potter’s eyes flew back to his own book immediately.

Sighing inwardly, Draco pointed his wand at a torn-up page and watched as it repaired itself. “Then why the fuck do _we_ have to do it?”

He didn’t have to look up to know that Potter wasn’t looking at him as he answered. “She’d already volunteered for about six different things before they put up the flyer for this one. She was really distressed about it.”

Draco knew he was staring at Potter now, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. Had Potter just given him a completely normal answer? Were they having a _conversation_?

Now Potter did look up at him. Frowning, of course. “What?” He sounded tense, like he was just waiting for Draco to say something mean in response.

So Draco just shook his head and turned another page. “Nothing.”

There was some faint rustling and then something blue and gold dropped onto his book before Draco had finished inspecting the page.

Draco looked at Potter. “What is it with you and Chocolate Frogs?”

Potter just shrugged. “You seem crabby again. You should really try it.”

Draco grinned mockingly. “The ‘ _endorphins_ ’?”

If he had thought that Potter would break eye contact again, Draco was wrong. Potter just rolled his eyes and then raised a brow. “You’re not _afraid_ of Pince, are you, Malfoy?”

Only after unwrapping the Chocolate did Draco realise that Potter had made him do it. Well, it was too late now. Draco stared him dead in the eyes and bit the Frog’s head off.

Potter ducked his head and continued on his book, but Draco could’ve sworn there was a faint smile on his face. Of _course_ he would enjoy manipulating Draco.

This time it was Draco who placed his Chocolate Frog card (Laverne de Montmorency – he already had ten of her) in his book and left first.

~o~

There was already a Chocolate Frog sitting on top of Draco’s book when he returned on Wednesday evening. Draco frowned at it from afar and kept frowning at it when he sat down in his chair.

Potter turned a page of his book and pretended he couldn’t see him.

“What’s this?” Draco asked, lifting one end of the book so the box slid off and onto Potter’s half of the table.

“It’s this sweet that people sometimes like to eat,” said Potter without looking up. He sounded highly amused. “It’s called a Chocolate Frog. There are trading cards in there.”

Draco sighed loudly, hoping to convey how insufferable Potter was. “Why was it on my book? And don’t say –”

“Endorphins.”

Now Potter did look up after all, and it was just to grin at him. Draco looked down at his book immediately. Having Potter look at him like _that_ was simply unnerving.

“You didn’t even know what mood I was going to be in.” Draco opened his book and plucked out Laverne de Montmorency’s card.

Potter chuckled. Why did he _chuckle_? He was supposed to scoff or laugh. If he had to chuckle, couldn’t he at least do it in a harsh way?

“Well, I obviously wasn’t wrong, was I?”

Draco shook his head and turned a page, even though he hadn’t really checked it. It wasn’t like _he_ would ever use a first year Charms textbook again anyway.

“Potter, if you already know that I am going to be in a bad mood before I even get here, maybe you should take a good hard look at yourself and think about why that might be.”

So much about not being overly hostile. Why did this have to be so _hard_?

He could _hear_ Potter shrug. Then he leaned forward, took the Chocolate Frog and ate it himself, all the while muttering something unintelligible under his breath.

They didn’t talk for close to an hour after that, but that didn’t mean that the library was silent.

It seemed that Potter lacked the ability to sit still. It was fairly inconspicuous at first, when Potter started shifting in his chair every few minutes. Then he began tapping his wand against the desk in some obscure rhythm. Next, he started bouncing his leg.

Draco didn’t know how Potter could concentrate on his book. Draco certainly couldn’t with the desk shaking faintly. But he wasn’t going to … _No_. Draco _could_ hold his tongue.

He could make it through one evening without insulting Potter. Well, without insulting him more than he already had. He could – Merlin, Potter couldn’t be _serious_!

“Are you humming?”

Potter didn’t even react and went right on doing it, so Draco picked up the Chocolate Frog card he had used as a place marker last time and propelled it across the table. It slid right under Potter’s arm and got stuck there.

Potter looked up suddenly, wand still raised to tap at the table again, mouth opened just so. Well, at least he was silent now.

“Were you humming?” Draco asked again, this time with a raised eyebrow.

Potter frowned, and Draco could see the _‘No’_ form already, but then he dropped his shoulders and said, “Yeah” instead. Also, he was smiling. To himself, probably, but still. Merlin, what was _wrong_ with Potter?

Draco was too surprised to stop himself from asking, “Which song?” and then it was out already and Draco couldn’t go back.

Potter looked at him for a second, searching for … _something_ , apparently, and then tipped his head back, presumably to look at the top of the stack of books towering behind Draco.

“I doubt that you know it.”

Draco scoffed and turned another page without even looking at it. Who even borrowed a library book that every first year was required to buy?

“I _do_ like music, you know?”

“Alright,” said Potter, looking back at him. “But that one’s Muggle.”

“Ah,” said Draco, and then he tried to turn another page and ripped it out in the process. Or maybe it had already been loose, that was possible as well. That was why they were here, after all.

Potter hummed, this time in agreement, and leaned to the side, straightening the pile of books next to his feet by hand. Definitely avoiding looking at Draco.

Fuck’s sake, why did he have to ask in the first place? He wanted to be amicable, and now Potter probably thought about all the things Draco could have to say about his Muggle songs.

Draco fully expected to be here for a few more months, maybe even all of their last year. He’d have to say something else, or this whole thing had the potential to get really uncomfortable.

He took a deep breath, as stealthily as he could, and said in his most agreeable voice, “What is it called?”

“Huh?” said Potter, looking up from his weird leaning position.

That one curly lock of hair that usually guarded his forehead had decided to obey gravity after all and Draco was awarded – no, assaulted – by the sight of that wretched scar, several shades lighter than his tan skin.

Draco looked away immediately, eyes latching on to the torn-up book Potter was working on.

Potter sat up properly then, one hand immediately in his hair to wrestle it back into submission, which was obviously a lost cause, the other turning the book to look at its cover, declaring finally, “Er … _‘Omens, Oracles & the Goat’._”

Draco shook his head, deciding that it was safe to look at him again. “Not the book. That song you were humming.”

“Oh,” said Potter dumbly. “You want to know the name of a Muggle song?”

“Yes,” said Draco pointedly, refusing to look away now.

Potter’s face lit up then, which did a _very_ odd thing to Draco’s stomach.

Probably panic, he told himself immediately. That was a common reaction upon finding nice things where they didn’t belong. Like beautiful lights in a bog – everybody knew that following those was what got you killed by Hinkypunks.

Potter just had a Hinkypunk smile, that was all, and Draco hadn’t expected it to shine in his direction. Not that Potter’s smile was _radiant_ or anything.

Merlin, Draco really had to get a grip. It was just that sitting here with Potter was _weird_.

At the end of the war – maybe a little earlier, maybe even immediately after the _Room_ – Draco had plucked Potter out of the _‘Enemies’_ drawer inside his head, without even knowing where to put him instead.

Which was why Potter had been floating through his mind ever since then, completely untethered, and Draco hadn’t known what to do with him. So, in the end, Draco had fashioned a new drawer for him, labelled it _‘Acquaintances Who I Don’t Want To Actively Hate Me’_ and tried to put Potter in there ever since then.

Only that Potter – well, the one inside Draco’s head, anyway – didn’t seem to want to go in there at all. And the Potter that _should_ fit into that drawer certainly didn’t smile at Draco like that. Like he didn’t just _not_ hate him, but actually kind of _liked_ him.

“It’s called ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’,” said the real Potter. He was not smiling anymore, like he had realised that he had done it and didn’t like it.

“I … don’t know what that means,” said Draco honestly, frowning down at the torn page in his hand and then back at Potter.

“Yeah,” said Potter, and the smile resurfaced after all. “Me neither.”

And then Draco did something weird – even weirder than shooting Chocolate Frog cards at Potter or asking about Muggle songs. Draco smiled back.

It only lasted for a second – the moment Potter noticed, his own smile faded slowly, and then Draco’s was gone as well and his concentration was back on the book and the page that he hastily Reparo-ed back into it.

That was all they said during their third evening of volunteer work, and Potter didn’t hum again either. He just slid Laverne back across the table at exactly ten and then marked his own page with his new card (Orsino Thruston of the Weird Sisters).

Then he was gone, leaving behind an unopened Chocolate Frog on his side of the table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you can spare them, I will take any of your thoughts, suggestions, emojis. :)


	2. Ballad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, you'll be happy to hear that I spent three whole weeks sick on my couch, which I used very productively indeed.  
> And I only mildly distracted myself by writing about 13,000 words for an entirely different fic that's not even for the same fandom.  
> Well, despite all that, here it is, chapter number two!
> 
> Massive thanks to all the lovely people who took a chance on this WIP and commented on the first chapter:  
> Justforthedead, yumi_usagi, ThatBoringOne, adventurous_potato, fishfingers_andcustard, Rionaa, Oriberry and i dont believe in humans (the user, not a statement from me)!  
> It was so nice to see some familiar names in my inbox, and of course I always appreciate new commenters! <3

Draco wasn’t watching the Gryffindor table at dinner. That simply wasn’t something he did. And if he _did_ , it wouldn’t be because of Potter. It _couldn’t_ be, because Potter was notably absent, so there. 

“Offed him already, have you?” said Pansy as she sat down on the bench beside him.

“Damn near thing,” muttered Draco, wrenching his eyes away from Granger and Weasley, who were very much present.

“That bad, is it?”

Draco sighed and stabbed at his pudding. “You have no idea.”

Blaise sat down across from him then, dropping a notebook onto the table next to his plate. “So, what are we thinking, Draco? _Was_ it Potter who signed you up?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Sure, if you think his idea of a good time is spending three evenings a week buried in damaged and dirty books and driving me slowly mad with his fidgeting.”

Draco didn’t mention the humming. He had a feeling that would be weird. He sure as well wouldn’t mention the Chocolate Frogs either. He didn’t want to give them anything to tease him about.

“Well, whoever it was, they did a pretty good job faking your signatures,” said Blaise as he opened his notebook and slid it over so they could see. “Yours is pretty accurate, except for that loopy bit with the ‘M’ here – You stopped doing that the day you turned fourteen, remember? – and his is just damn near perfect.”

There were two pairs of signatures on opposing sides of the notebook, written in different colours of ink, and Blaise pointed out the parts where they differed.

Draco frowned. “Where did you get my signature?”

Pansy placed a hand on Draco’s lower arm and leaned forward with a grin. “No, the question is: How did you get _Potter’s_ signature? Did you stand in line and ask for his autograph?”

Blaise waved a hand and slammed the notebook shut. “Please, Pansy. That’s a trade secret.”

As he certainly had never seen Potter give autographs, Draco’s best guess was that Blaise had somehow acquired Filch’s detention records. Of those Potter surely must have signed plenty enough to choose from.

“So,” said Draco, returning his attention to his barely touched plate. “Does that mean you’re still planning on reviving the Council?”

“Working on it. If only we knew where the official Council gavel has gone.”

If Draco was lucky, Flint had been buried with it. Not that he would put it past Blaise to come for it nonetheless.

~o~

Potter was already in their section of the library, which had been cordoned off by Pince somewhere between their second and third evening. He had pushed the sleeves of his shirt up as far as they would go and his tie was sticking out of his bag. Despite all this, his shirt was still clinging to his back, which was simply absurd in mid-September.

What was more – there already was a stack of checked and repaired books to his right, and since Pince always filed those away in between their meetings, he must have produced that just now. Was that where he had been during dinner?

“Couldn’t wait to get started?” said Draco as he leaned his bag against a stack of books and took his usual place. There was no chocolate, and Draco relaxed a little into his chair.

Potter merely glanced at him. “The earlier we get to it, the sooner we’ll be finished.”

“Yes …,” said Draco slowly. “Well, if I had known that you would be here early –”

“What, Malfoy?” Potter laughed, and this time it really was harsh. “You’d have come early as well?”

Confused, Draco leaned back and folded his arms in front of his chest. “Do you want to leave early? Is that it?”

“No, Malfoy, that’s not it,” said Potter sourly, pointing at the massive, looming towers of books. “Then we wouldn’t get all of that done sooner, would we?” 

“Ah,” said Draco, slamming his book open at the marked spot. “You would rather we’d not be here at the same time.”

“I’m …” Potter pushed back his chair, creating some more distance between them, and tipped his head back. “Look, I’m just …” 

“Pissed off?” Draco suggested. “You know, I heard about this thing called endorphins …”

Potter sighed and looked at him after all. “Confused ...” 

“Confused?” echoed Draco.

“About … Well, somebody signed us up for this, right? I’d just really like to know who and why.”

Draco sighed. “Maybe they want us to fight?”

“I … yeah, _maybe_.” Potter shrugged. “Guess now’s the time to tell you that I’m not interested in that, isn’t it? I’d rather sit here and do all the work alone than have to fight anyone ever again.”

“Oh,” said Draco, caught by surprise. “Well, I guess we could split evenings? I’ll keep doing Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, and you could take the ones in between?” 

Thing was, Draco didn’t really _want_ to split evenings. People would surely notice, and then word would get around that Draco Malfoy and the Saviour of the Wizarding world were very much still at odds, and Draco doubted _that_ would make things any easier for him after graduation.

So, Draco just did something weird instead. Again. Draco heaved his bag onto his knees, rummaged through it and, when he finally found it, slid the Chocolate Frog across the table. 

Potter looked down at it and then up at Draco. “You didn’t eat it,” he said stiffly, like Draco had insulted him. 

_Great_ , this was going in the wrong direction. 

Draco rolled his eyes and pushed the box a little further along the table with a flick of his wand. It sailed off the table and hit Potter in the chest. 

“How do you know that this isn’t an entirely different Chocolate Frog?” Draco said pointedly. “Did you mark it or something?”

“ _Is_ it?” Potter asked in a remarkable imitation of Draco’s tone, rubbing at his chest.

“I was saving it.” 

“For what?”

“For when I have to sit across some sulky wanker in need of _endorphins_.” 

Potter snorted. It seemed to have come quite involuntarily, because his eyes widened immediately, and then he wrenched open the box.

“You know, I wasn’t going to suggest splitting,” he said, eyes solely focused on his Frog. “What I was trying to say was … well, we could just do this and try to avoid … you know … insulting each other?” 

“Fine,” said Draco when the words finally registered. “Alright … I wasn’t exactly looking for a fight either.”

“No?” And there it was again – Potter’s weird, _friendly_ grin.

Draco rolled his eyes and finally got started on his book. “Don’t look so surprised, Potter.”

Potter just shook his head and returned to his current book. They didn’t talk again all evening. And when Potter started humming again somewhere around half to ten, Draco held his tongue.

~o~

“Potter, are you _reading_?” It had taken Draco a whole fifteen minutes into their session on Monday evening before he had noticed that Potter had apparently made no progress at all.

“What?” A crease formed between Potter’s brows as he first looked up at Draco and then back down at his book. He slowly finished chewing something that Draco was pretty sure was another Chocolate Frog. “I … guess I am?”

“I thought you wanted to get done with this as fast as possible?”

“I do!” Potter wrestled one of his unruly curls away from where it threatened his eye. It looked like a rather pointless effort. 

“So what, are you checking every single letter for ink damage?”

“ _Ha ha_ , very funny,” said Potter, holding the book up so he could see. “This has details on half-arsed Animagus transformation.”

Draco leaned over to have a closer look at the absolutely hilarious illustration of a witch stuck in between her transformation from human to … duck, apparently? She definitely had a bill where mouth and nose should have been.

“Are you aware that essay is due tomorrow?” 

Potter slapped the book back down (the spine came off) and sighed a “Yes.”

“We’ve got McGonagall first thing tomorrow.”

“Yes, I’m aware.” Potter rummaged through his bag, produced _another_ Chocolate Frog and then stuffed it into his mouth as soon as he had unboxed it. 

“That’s in less than twelve hours.” 

His own essay had taken him nearly four hours before he had been remotely satisfied with it, research time not accounted for. 

“Yes, thanks, _Hermione_.”

In light of their fragile truce, Draco tried his very hardest not to grimace. “Just saying.”

“Not a fan.” 

“What would you have done if you hadn’t come across that book by complete accident?”

Potter shrugged. “Probably copied from Ron before he inevitably pressures Hermione into having a look at it. When she’s done with his, you won’t be able to tell they used to be the same.”

There was no need for Draco to answer, as Potter produced quill and parchment from his bag and immediately started on his notes. 

During the next hour, he filled one and a half rolls and decimated a good ten Chocolate Frogs while Draco got through just as many barely damaged books. And then – ten and a half hours until their Transfiguration class – Potter slammed the book shut (it released a faint cloud of mouldy-smelling dust) and, with a deep sigh, rolled up his notes and dropped them into his bag.

“Giving up after all?” Draco asked incidentally as he turned another page.

“Finished!” 

When Draco looked up sharply, he was rewarded with the sight of a triumphant Potter, chair tipped back, hands interlaced at his neck and a dumb smile on his face.

“What do you mean, _‘finished’_?” Draco gestured at Potter’s bag. “You just wrote that down in one go, just the way it popped into your head?”

“Yes?”

“No first draft? Not even a general outline?”

“I swear to God, Malfoy, you sound _just_ like Hermione.” 

“I heard you _cross out_ several lines! You’re not even going to clean it up?”

Potter didn’t seem bothered by the criticism in the slightest. “I made sure that my essay meets the length requirement, don’t worry.”

“ _Don’t wo–_ ” Draco rubbed both his temples at once. “Potter, you can’t be serious. What kind of mark do you think McGonagall will attribute you for that little effort? You used only one source. A _single one_.”

Potter shrugged lightly. “Should be enough for an A?”

“ _Potter_. I can’t be the first person to break this to you: You need at least an _E_ in all your subjects if you want to become an Auror.”

The front legs of Potter’s chair made sudden contact with the ground again. The surprise that showed on Potter’s face made Draco seriously question whether he _was_ the first to inform him of the requirements after all. 

“I don’t need –” Potter grabbed the table with both hands. His eyes were focused on a spot somewhere above Draco’s head. “I’m not actually –” He seemed flustered now, and it was definitely a flight when he jumped to his feet, grabbed his bag and practically yelled, “See you Wednesday!”, already turning around and leaving.

Draco fully expected Potter to have a mental breakdown before he even reached the tower. Served him right, because he had left all of the empty Frog wrappers on the table for Draco to vanish. 

Draco had half a mind to just leave them there for Pince to find, but he had a feeling that wouldn’t be very truce-y of him.

~o~

“I need you to tell me you’re not stupid,” muttered Blaise as he took a seat next to Draco for breakfast the next morning.

Draco regarded him with a very cold look and then proceeded to butter his toast. “Only one of us failed to earn an O.W.L. in Charms, Blaise. _Charms_.”

“You know that wasn’t my fault!” hissed Blaise. “My stepfather had just died the day before!”

“Of course. How could I forget Stepfather Number Seven?” Draco didn’t even look up from his plate. “Remind me, what was his name again?”

Blaise actually pushed his elbow into Draco’s side and hissed, “I can’t believe I actually thought you’d have enough self-control not to antagonize Potter after everything you and your father did. It’s no wonder Potter is glaring at you again. You’re a bastard.”

Draco’s head whipped up so fast that something inside his neck caught. Swearing under his breath, he slapped both hands against the back of his head as cold trickled down and numbness set in. By the time his vision finally cleared enough for him to focus on the Gryffindor table, Potter was staring holes into his cereal bowl and Blaise was geared up for round two. 

“I can’t believe I actually have to spell this out for you. Draco. You _cannot_ afford to pick fights this year. Especially not with Gryffindors. And under _no_ circumstances whatsoever can you afford to make an enemy of Potter.” 

Blaise paused for a second, frowned, and then added, “Any more than you already have the past seven years, I mean.”

“I’m not even doing anything!” Draco glared at Potter’s bowed head, cursing him for being an over-sensitive bastard who apparently couldn’t even take constructive criticism and … and _concern_ for the repercussions his academic shortcomings could have on his career plans. 

Potter was still pretending to be totally engrossed in his breakfast, but Weasley caught his eyes and narrowed his own at him at once, obviously hissing about it to Potter, who just shrugged.

“Acting like yourself is probably enough,” said Blaise, reaching across Draco’s plate for the butter, and breaking his line of sight in the process. 

Three years ago, he never would have dared to treat Draco like that.

 _Everybody_ knew the Zabinis were new money. _Nobody_ knew anything about Blaise’s first three stepfathers, the ones before he’d started school. If one did the math, there just weren’t enough single (or at least available), wealthy _Pure-blood_ men for Mrs. Zabini to wed and bury a whopping seven of them. 

But money was still money, so no one had ever deemed it necessary to do the math, and now the time to throw that little fact in Blaise’s face had definitely passed. Nobody was allowed to care about that anymore. On the contrary – it was what made Blaise one of the most popular Slytherins at the moment.

So Draco just ground his teeth and kept silent as Blaise fixed him with a condescending look and said in a sing-song voice, “Listen carefully: Potter has won. For good. There is no next round, no rematch. If you can’t get on Potter’s good side –,” here he paused to huff a laugh, “– you need to keep your head down. Let him insult you all he wants. It’s only ten more months.”

Draco would have liked to tell Blaise where he could put his advice. He would have liked to stand up, two bulky shadows at his back, and give Blaise a look that would make it unmistakably clear that he would be required to get up _first_ the next morning, if he wanted to have a turn at showering at all. 

But Blaise and Theo were the only Slytherins who even really talked to Draco still. (Pansy, who herself had done something incredibly stupid in trying to sacrifice Potter to the Dark Lord, didn’t count.) He could imagine the hostility he would face if he was stupid enough to break with darling Blaise.

So Draco bit his tongue and did nothing of the things he would have liked. 

“I bet that’s what it’s all about,” added Blaise after a few minutes of silence. “Whoever signed you up is trying to ruin you completely by pitting you against him.”

Draco, who didn’t think that Blaise had any real chance of finding the culprit (what evidence was there?), just shrugged, and, despite his lack of appetite, finished his toast for something to do.

He did not tell Blaise that Potter had yet to insult him.

~o~

If Potter wanted to ignore him, Draco sure as fuck wouldn’t be the one to acknowledge him first. 

When McGonagall received Potter’s Animagus essay with a very unimpressed look, he stowed his _‘I-told-you-so’_ -glance. Every single meal he ate with his back turned to the Gryffindor table. 

On Wednesday, he made sure to eat dinner as early as possible and then got started in the library immediately afterwards, even though that meant the library wouldn’t be closed for another hour and he had to bypass a small number of students who were still in there and following his progression to the secluded back of the library with thinly veiled resentment (at best).

When Potter finally deigned to join him at closing time, there was a sizable pile of repaired books shielding Draco’s half of the table from Potter’s. He could sense Potter hesitate in front of his chair, and he raised an eyebrow when he heard the heavy intake of air, testament to apparent frustration. 

Potter’s bag hit the floor with a thud as he dropped onto his chair unceremoniously. In his periphery, Draco could see Potter lean to the side and rummage through it. He didn’t say anything to him though, so Draco kept his eyes trained on his current book with determination.

There definitely was a heavy sigh as Potter slammed his first book onto the table, and then a curse and a muttered, “Fucking sensitive books”, when the damaged book very obviously reacted badly to the treatment.

Draco slapped his wand to his own book a little harder than necessary before turning the page with some rustling, just to emphasize that he was _working_ and not interested in Potter’s antics. 

Silence lasted for a whole minute before Draco registered movement from up ahead, which he stubbornly ignored until he just couldn’t anymore. 

Another bloody Chocolate Frog had made its way over the divider and was now levitating in front of his face. Draco flicked his eyes towards the book pile, but Potter was only visible because his curls seemed intent to defy gravity. Well, at least he knew better than to peek over the top. Draco would’ve had to poke his eyes out. 

Draco didn’t know what the Frog meant, but he also didn’t really _want_ to know. No matter what Potter had said about not wanting to fight – he just couldn’t imagine that the Frog was meant as anything other than a taunt. 

Well, Potter could shove it. Draco hadn’t been the one to start this childish ignoring game, but he sure as hell would win it. He brushed the Frog to the side, but it resumed its immensely irritating position almost immediately. 

_Fine then_. 

Draco grabbed the Frog, waited for the magic to release it, squinted at where he assumed Potter to be and _threw_ it at him just as Potter took a breath that sounded an awful lot like triumph.

_“Ouch!”_

Draco didn’t have time to gloat over hitting his mark, because the Frog returned not a second later, hitting him square in the chest. Well, at least he had more self-control than Potter and managed to keep silent. Also, if Potter thought Draco would just _give up_ , he was sorely mistaken. 

Seeing as they were one extraordinarily talented and one extraordinarily stubborn Seeker (Draco and Potter respectively), the Frog only picked up speed from there, slapping into Draco’s hand so hard it stung and returning to its sender in the same heartbeat.

The game came to an end when Potter huffed an annoyed-sounding breath around the fifteenth round, which was immediately followed by the sound of crinkly wrapping paper being opened. Draco breathed out heavily in response, _not_ a sign of fatigue but _only_ of contentment. Potter had seen reason and given up – 

Something crossed the book barrier at high speed, flew right through Draco hands, hastily thrown into the air, and smacked Draco in the forehead even as he was leaning back to escape it. His chair toppled over backwards with a resounding crash that rattled his bones.

Draco barely registered a startled yelp that might not have come from himself, and a split-second later, the back of his head connected with the floor and pain exploded. Several thuds followed, accentuating the sharp stabbing inside his skull, and then there was the sudden sound of a chair scraping across the floor.

“Shit,” Potter hissed as he crouched down next to Draco. “ _Fuck_ , Malfoy. I swear I didn’t do that on purpose!”

Draco merely groaned and draped both arms across his face to shield his eyes against the dim candle light that stung his eyes even through his eyelids. A warm hand dropped onto his shoulder and then immediately vanished again when he flinched at the unexpected contact. 

“I’m so sorry! It was an accident, I swear!”

Another groan before Draco grumbled, voice suspiciously scratchy, “So you _didn’t_ pretend to eat it so I would think you’d given up?”

“I didn’t pretend!” Potter pressed something boxy into Draco's open hand. “This was a second one!”

Nobody could fault Draco for chucking the second Frog at Potter. 

He opened his eyes just in time to witness Potter bat the box away from his face with both hands, losing his balance in the process and landing hard on his arse with an “Oomph!”

The bloody _Saviour_ was grimacing and rubbing his lower back, but all he said was, “Fair.”

They stayed down for a few more seconds, and then Potter jumped to his feet and Draco sat up slowly. Both of Draco’s hands were interlocked behind his head, but there was another one in front of his face, faint writing across the back of it only visible in the dim light because the skin around it was so much tanner.

“Come on.”

Draco stopped squinting at the scar and let his eyes travel up Potter’s arm until he reached his eyes. The fingers in front of his face wiggled imploringly.

“Afraid I’ll drop you?” 

When Draco narrowed his eyes at him, Potter actually hunched his shoulders. 

“Not until you mentioned it just now.”

“Psht,” made Potter, grabbing both his forearms without his approval and pulling him up. 

Draco’s head began swimming almost immediately, and he all but stumbled into Potter, who made a noise Draco couldn’t decipher and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. There was a split-second during which Draco felt uncomfortably hot all of a sudden (regular humans weren’t supposed to have so damned much body heat, right?), and then Draco was dumped onto a chair. Eyes closed, Draco leaned his head back and tried to suppress his nausea. 

Then something dropped into his lap and Potter said, “Eat that.”

“What is it with you and your fucking _endorphins_?” 

Sadly, Draco didn’t manage to pack any real heat into his words. On the other hand, maybe that was for the best, considering their _truce_. (If that even still existed after he had apparently mortally offended Potter by trying to help with his career plans.) 

“Chocolate helps!” Potter insisted. 

Draco opened his eyes as Potter sat down on top of the table in front of Draco, who opened his mouth to scold him for placing his arse on Draco’s book, before he realised that they were on Potter’s side. Draco’s chair was still overturned and the book pile between their sides had been toppled. 

Potter had the audacity to snap his fingers in front of Draco’s face before gesturing at the Chocolate Frog in Draco’s lap. “Eat. Don’t pretend you’re not in a mood. You’ve been acting stuck up all day.”

Draco couldn’t help but laugh. “Me? Don’t think I didn’t notice you glaring at me at breakfast yesterday! Blaise told me!”

Potter snorted, shaking his head. “ _Glaring?_ Is that what Zabini said?”

“Are you telling me you _weren’t_ glaring?” Draco paused to give his next words more weight. “Mind telling me what you _were_ doing?”

“I wasn’t … I was just … _I didn’t even look at you that long._ ”

“ _Sure_.” Draco was grinning. 

Now that he had the upper hand, there was no harm in opening the box and breaking off the Frog’s chocolate head. He nibbled at it slowly, watching Potter grimace, before adding, “Mind telling me what exactly you were looking at me _for_?”

“I wasn’t even really looking at you!” Potter leaned back, hands stretched out on the table behind him, not even reacting when he pushed an avalanche of books off the surface. His feet were dangling in a nervous fashion. “I was just … thinking.”

“About?” Draco got started on the Frog’s remains. His eyes stayed fixed on Potter’s neck, which was overstretched so he could stare at the high ceiling and avoid Draco’s eyes in the process. 

Potter swallowed. “Whether I should’ve told you or not.”

The chair creaked as Draco leaned forward. “ _Definitely_ tell me.”

Potter sighed heavily and shook his wand out of his sleeve. Draco barely had a second to freeze, and then _yet another_ Chocolate Frog zoomed out of the bag at his feet and landed in Potter’s hand. It took a lot out of Draco to wait for Potter to chew it slowly, but he managed. It helped that the back of his head was still throbbing faintly, distracting him.

“I’m not gonna be an Auror,” Potter said suddenly, and Draco barely heard it over the crinkling of the wrapper being crumbled. 

One, two, three seconds ticked by before Draco finally understood the meaning, and when he did, he could only scoff. 

“Yes, _right_.” He scoffed again, for good measure. “ _Umbridge_ would not stop going on about how you’ll never become an Auror for as long as she lives; _McGonagall_ swore an oath to drag you through all the hoops, if rumours are to be believed; and now _you_ are telling me you’re just going to give up and let her have the win?”

Now it was Potter’s turn to scoff. He returned into a straight position, folding his hands in his lap, and traced the scar on his right almost incidentally. He was uncomfortably near, and Draco leaned back as far as he could without tipping this chair over as well.

“You know, Malfoy …” Potter paused, maybe searching for words. “I’m trying not to use spite as my motivation for everything, these days.”

Draco raised both eyebrows and Potter cracked a grin. “I’m serious. I’ll watch her go to Azkaban, where they probably don’t even get the news, and then I’ll forget all about her and do what I _want_ to do.”

“You? Forget?” If he could, he would have elevated his eyebrows even more. “Also: You? Not martyr yourself for The Greater Good, all capitalised?”

Potter darted forward in a heartbeat, slapping an open hand onto Draco’s knee. It was gone before Draco could bat it away, and he was already scowling when he realized it hadn’t even hurt. There was only one word for it … Potter had slapped his knee _playfully_. 

What in Merlin’s name was going _on_?

“I’m trying my best, alright? Haven’t even given you the evil eye once this year, have I?”

Yes, because Potter had done his best not to look at him _at all_ until a faked signature had brought him here. But Draco wasn’t going to bring that up again. 

“Except for yesterday morning, you mean?”

“I was _thinking_. That’s just my face!” Potter exclaimed, throwing both hands up. “I can’t help what my face looks like!”

Draco grinned. “Another reason for you to make an effort in Transfiguration.” 

“ _What_ did you just say to me?” Potter inhaled quite exaggeratedly. “ _Shoo!_ ” Potter accompanied the word with the appropriate hand gesture. “Give me back my chair, you squatter.”

“Can’t help it if it is the truth,” said Draco as he returned to his own side of the table and righted his chair with a flick of his wand. “Also, you put me there.”

Potter huffed, but there was no heat behind it. Neither of them rebuilt the book pile dividing them and _another_ damn Chocolate Frog leapt onto Draco’s hand not even five minutes later. Seeing as it was already unwrapped, Draco had no real choice but to eat it.

Potter, the bastard, was grinning down at his book.

~o~

There was a faint squeaky sound, and no matter how much he craned his neck, Draco could not for the life of him figure out where it was coming from. It was keeping him from concentrating on the task at hand and Potter, with his noisy finger-tapping and leg-vibrating, was no help at all.

Draco was just debating whether he would be able to kick Potter’s shin from his diagonal position on his first attempt, when the tapping suddenly stopped. Holding his breath, Draco strained his ears for the slightest hint of a direction, but the squeaky sound was gone as well. The sound of Potter turning a page was overly loud in the sudden silence and then – Potter was quietly whistling some kind of tune, five notes repeated two times. And then he started humming again, and Draco had a sudden suspicion.

“That squeaky sound just now,” he started casually, abandoning his book to sit upright and have a good look at Potter freezing. “Was that you _singing_?”

“No.” The answer came immediately. “Squeaky … _what_ sound?”

He had to give it to Potter. He was staring him straight in the eyes, lying right to his face. He wasn’t exactly the most competent liar, but that still didn’t stop him from trying.

“You know the one … you were fidgeting along to it. Came right before your attempt at whistling.”

“No idea what you’re talking about.”

“It went something like this,” said Draco, followed by his best attempt at imitating the squeaky sound through humming.

Potter just shrugged and very pointedly hunched over his book again. Draco was not going to give up. 

“Was that another Muggle song?” Draco hummed it again, relishing the way Potter’s shoulders tensed. 

He was vaguely aware that he was probably riling Potter up, but he just couldn’t help it. Teasing him came naturally to him, no matter how much he wanted to keep the truce. It seemed like it was this or stay silent, and Draco didn’t know how to do _that_.

Potter kept his head down and said in a faux-natural tone, “Sounds like the same one.”

“What? No. That sounded entirely different.” And Draco would know, because he knew exactly one absurd Muggle song (the name of which he’d forgotten as soon as Potter had told him), and this one wasn’t it.

“I think I _know_ what I was singing, Malfoy.”

“Oh, so you _were_ singing?”

Potter’s shoulders rose and sank with a heavy breath, and only when he was done with that, did he look up from his book with a long-suffering expression. “You know, I’ve actually tried to forget how insufferable you’ve been the last seven years. But now you’re just a different kind of annoying. It’s almost worse, somehow.”

 _Huh_. Well, that was _something_ , wasn’t it? Seemed like Draco wasn’t the only one who had removed Potter from his list of enemies. Or tried to, at least. 

“Because you can’t hex me for it?”

Potter sighed and removed his glasses before rubbing his eyes with his palms. The glasses remained on the edge of his table even when he was done. “I could totally hex you, just so you know.”

“But you won’t, because that wouldn’t be very eth–” 

“I’ll give you a Frog if you shut up,” Potter interrupted, one hand already outstretched to catch the chocolate flying at him from his bag.

“Rude,” said Draco, but he took the proffered chocolate, placed it by the edge of his table (just in case he should be in need of ammunition later) and then mimed locking his mouth. 

He summoned a new book and immediately was faced with a stain on the cover that was so enormous it would give Pince an instant heart attack. The binding also felt oddly bloated and uneven.

Draco tried a mild cleaning charm first, but that barely scraped off the first layer and also dusted his desk with what seemed to be rust. Not knowing what it was, Draco quickly vanished it before it could damage any of the other books (or, Merlin forbid, him _)._

“What’s that smell?” said Potter suddenly, squinting in the general direction of the book.

At Draco’s behest, the book left the table and floated up to eye level. Potter’s eyes narrowed even more, and even though his hand twitched in the general direction of his glasses, Potter didn’t put them on.

“You can’t see a thing, can you?”

To his great surprise, Potter didn’t sound defensive but actually kind of whiny. “I just don’t want to have to look at your smug little face anymore. Is that too much to ask?”

Draco didn’t even pretend to be offended. As far as he was concerned, looking smug was no flaw. If you had _reason_ to be smug, you should be allowed to show it, right? And if Potter didn’t want to see it, that meant that _he_ knew it too.

“So, you’re just going to stick your nose into a potentially cursed book and see what happens?”

Potter shrugged. “Seems worth it.” But he still put on his glasses, took a half-second glance at the book and then instantly announced, “That’s blood.”

The levitating spell slipped from Draco’s mental grasp and the book fell open with a sickening squelch as it hit the table. All three edges of the book were dyed a rusty brown and the blood had even soaked onto the pages, leaving only a tiny untouched area in the middle. Draco wasn’t going to check if all the pages were as damaged as these two.

“Merlin and Morgana, I _touched_ it! _Get it off, get it off!_ ” 

Draco dropped his wand and stretched both his hands as far away from his body as he could. His palms itched horribly and there was too much saliva in his mouth, which felt way too hot all of a sudden. That usually was a clear sign that he was going to be sick.

Potter took up his wand and pointed it at him. “Hold still,” he ordered, and Draco locked out his arms, insides of his hands facing Potter, without so much as a second thought. “ _Purgo!_ ”

The magic that scraped across his palms felt like ice cold butter knives. And even though Draco could have easily teased Potter about choosing the most aggressive cleaning charm, he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. The objectively uncomfortable prickling remaining on his skin acted as much needed reassurance. Anything less and he still would have been wanting to burn his skin off.

“Thanks,” Draco breathed out before he could stop himself. 

They both froze, Potter still with his wand outstretched and Draco with his eyes glued to his hands. 

Then he slapped them onto the table (far away from that wretched book) and exclaimed loudly, “So, how do we get that off?”

Potter cleared his throat and lowered his wand. To Draco’s great relief, he didn’t react to the blunder and said instead, “Hermione will know.”

“Does Granger often get _blood_ on her books?” 

On one hand, she didn’t seem like the type to even write in the margins. On the other hand, Draco wouldn’t put it past her to still be studying while mortally wounded. With Granger, you just never knew. He certainly wouldn’t have been surprised to hear that people had read her their class notes when she had been petrified by the Basilisk. And if they had not, they were surely still hearing about it now, no matter if she’d been conscious or not.

Potter’s tone was light-hearted. “Ah, well, if you go on a months-long run from homicidal maniacs with your private library stashed in the same handbag as all your first-aid supplies, that is inevitable, really.” 

Well, if that wasn’t a brand-new sentence. 

“Right …,” said Draco slowly. He didn’t know what to say to that, so he just levitated the book over onto Potter’s side of the table. “You’ll take care of that, then?”

Potter gave him a very unimpressed look. But then he shrugged, like he had just thought of something, grinned and pointed his wand at the book, which … vanished. 

Fuck.

“Well, shit, Potter,” Draco said tonelessly. “That didn’t exactly work out, did it? Which spell did you use?”

“It worked out _perfectly_ ,” said Potter, actually grinning at him like he hadn’t just brought Pince’s wrath upon himself. “That book was bloody disgusting. Literally.”

“You _meant_ to do that?” Draco paused to process that piece of horrible (or potentially entertaining, provided he could be there to watch) information. “She’s going to flay you alive.” 

Potter seemed unconcerned. “I’ll just file it under _‘Spontaneous Disintegration’_ ,” he said brightly, leaning over the library catalogue to do just that and then dropping the pen onto it with a flourish. “And _boom_ , I’m done with it.”

Draco grabbed the catalogue and dragged it across the table so he could see. Sure enough, there it was. And in pretentiously loopy letters no less, like that idiot was actually proud of it. 

“You can’t just write that! She won’t believe that the book just – _wait a minute!_ ” Draco sat up straighter so he could get closer to the page. His stomach dropped when he confirmed it hadn’t just been a trick of the light. “That’s my name! Potter!”

The stupid bastard leaned back in his chair, both hands held up in defence. Draco didn’t miss that he was still holding his wand, albeit in his left. “It _was_ on your pile. So it was _your_ responsibility, right?”

Draco’s face made contact with the catalogue. He folded both arms over his head. “Oh Merlin, I’m dead. You’ve officially signed my death warrant. I hope you’re happy.”

“More and more often, these days.” He sounded like it, too. 

If Draco’s no-longer-enemy was happy, good for him. Draco did _not_ care either way. 

Something grazed his arm, and for one nauseating second, Draco thought that it was Potter’s hand. But then something crinkled and when Draco looked up, there was a Chocolate Frog in front of his face.

“You have _got_ –,” Draco threw the box at his head and Potter actually laughed as he caught it, obviously entirely unsurprised, “– to be kidding me!”

“God, I miss Quidditch,” Potter said wistfully, which really was neither here nor there.

“Potter, I am _literally_ dying over here. Focus.” 

Draco scowled back down at the catalogue and then frowned when the faked signature caught his eye again. It was remarkably close to his real one – _except_ for the ‘M’.

“That’s actually impressive,” Draco said carefully, tracing the letters with a fingertip.

Potter just grinned and waved a hand at him. “I’m a very talented person. Don’t mention it.”

Oh, Draco would mention it. Draco would _definitely_ mention it to Blaise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter three is finished and will be posted as soon as I'm done with the fourth one.  
> Until then, let me know what you think! :)


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